


Father

by cjwritergal



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-08
Updated: 2008-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:04:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjwritergal/pseuds/cjwritergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wiped away the tears. My son, my son, my son."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father

The camera flashed.

Trisha was busying herself with thanking the photographer, adjusting Al more comfortably on her hip. Hoenhiem turned away from His wife and his son, facing the wall. He knew he was shaking. He knew he was crying. It mattered little.

" _So please...stay with your family...Don't be distant, don't leave us alone."_

He felt his breath leave him in a slight gasp, and knew that he had to be careful, lest he be seen. He couldn't let her know of his tears, not yet.

" _...And don't call yourself a monster."_

He hadn't realized that he still held his don in his arms, until he felt the hand reach up, and touch his face. Hoenhiem started, looking down at the boy in his arms. The tears dripped slowly down his chin, onto his collar, and his son's head. Ed looked up at him, eyes big and bright and gold and all of the things that he had seen there, before Ed had smiled at him. The little hand moved over Hoenhiem's face, over his beard and chin- and Ed was frowning, as if in deep concentration.

He wiped the tears away.

He looked confused, perhaps because he had never seen an adult cry before. His eyebrows were furrowed, and after a moment, he lowered his hand, seeming satisfied with the fact that the tears had stopped. He looked back up. His voice was quiet but very clear- when he spoke it was something that he had often said to his brother, had heard his mother say and knew that he too must say, when the right time came.

"Don't cry."

Hoenhiem felt his eyes widen, felt his heart jump and his hands automatically tighten around this boy, this enigma, this wonder...his son.

His son, his son, his son.

And just like that, Hoenhiem was hugging his child. He said nothing, and he did not cry. He just brought the small life- the blessed, wonderful, beautiful life – to his chest, and held him. A hiss escaped the father after a moment- and if one were close enough, it might have sounded like a whisper-  _"My son..."_

And he let go.

His son was on the ground, and the father was standing, staring ahead and distant again.

But it escaped him- the thought and feeling would never leave him, the moment and memory would be forever held inside his heart. And the words left his lips again.

"My son..."

He hardly understood why he took to the words, why they held him so. But as he locked it inside himself, he whispered it again, and again, and again. Each more softly than the other, until it was silent to all but him. And every step he took, he heard the words. They beated with his heart, and echoed in his thoughts. Every breath, every sigh, the words were there, waiting to be released again.

_My son..._

_((I have to leave))_

For a moment they had been framed in the light, and he had let himself engrave it on his heart. The words had gone through his head again, as he gazed at both of his sons.

Now the fire crackled, and he looked at a photograph.

His tears were there, forever. And no little hand was there to wipe them away.

So he said it again. Unwillingly, unwittingly, the words left his lips, for the last time.

"My son..."

And the cry came from the bottom of his throat, forcing it's way up his mouth and into the air like bile, and he let it out, let it fly, let it escape and fall. It didn't matter that he wouldn't say it for a while. He could always hear it, breaking and splintering and shattered in the night air-  _My son._

Perhaps the words were a substitute, for another group of words that he couldn't get himself to utter. But that wasn't true- because to him they meant the same thing. Two words instead of three- but to him it was one in the same, and it pounded within him as life. _My son._

_I love you._

(  _And he cries out to the heavens- "I am not my father's son")_  


When they meet again, it has been far too long.

He knows this, knows it and acknowledges it, and despairs it, but not so much as he despairs the actual meeting. For when he sees his son's step, it carries a whisper, like his own. But the whisper is not 'My father'. It is  _never_  'My father'.

It is 'My brother'. 'My Mother.' 'My love'. 'My family'. 'My world'.

And Hoenhiem echoes pitifully behind him, the sound timid, banished- permanent.

_My son. My son. My son._

The words have never changed- never in their endless mantra, has the feeling changed.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

And Hoenhiem knows that he lost the chance to say it to him long ago, just as he knows that his heart will never stop saying it, anymore than it will stop whispering for his wife, and other son. He has closed it so tightly, the words are so shut within him, he wonders if he could even say it aloud any more, period.

So at night, he tries. And when he opens his mouth it bubbles forth- like a cork ready to fly from a bottle, the words burst forth- and it hurts. He shouts it and it hurts all the more. He screams it, and it is torn from his soul- a living thing, a breathing thing, rising to the world, as something of it's own, something powerful and bright and true.

And it's a sin. He knows this, as the scream dies down. And like a sin it is his to bear, and his alone. And like a sin it will never leave. It will haunt his every step, hang on every thought- and wait as always on bated breath, to be said aloud again.

_My son..._

And he hopes it will never leave. He hopes that it will stay until he has felt it and said it and known it so much that perhaps...perhaps...

He will hear his son say, "Father".

_I love you._

And he knows that he is wrong to wish this and hope for it- because who is he to hope for anything from his son. He should be happy with the mantra that throbs in his heart- for likely that is all he will ever get. So he holds it, cherishes it, and keeps it inside- in his heart.  _My son, my son, my son._

And he realizes, as he sees his son- eyes so different from when he was a child, and yet so similar- he knows that perhaps he will never say it out loud to his son again. That his son didn't remember the time when he did say it, years ago. He will never hear it, though it pulses through Hoenhiem with his heartbeat.

_I love you. I love you. I...love...you!_

And he comes to the realization, that if something like Homunculus could be called "Father" by so many, then...

"Truly, I am a monster."

_Dear...smile._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> The line "and he cried out to the heavens, I am not my father's son" is from the song "Father's Son" by 3 Doors Down. The song doesn't particularly fit the characters involved, but it did make me think of Ed.


End file.
